


no big deal

by basketbon



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, i wrote 11k?! that's so many words. that's at least 5 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basketbon/pseuds/basketbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is cool. Nothing is wrong. </p><p>Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no big deal

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: JUJU!!! juju... i don’t know if you’re reading this, but this fic is for you!!!!!!! the lack of maomako fics makes me rly sad too, and i really wanted to write a little something for you to cheer you up if you’re maybe not feeling so good some days, although it sounds really silly when i’m writing it out haha… i’m sorry if the writing is so bad, i tried my best, so i hope it makes you smile a little bit…!! writing makoto and mao is so fun, i really enjoyed it?!（゛８＾－＾）８ﾞ
> 
> (i think the end of this fic is the only part i rly like now that i think about it... expositions are scary..)

 

“Do you think,” Subaru muses, “you could fit a whole thing of asparagus in your mouth?”

 

Makoto ponders this for a moment.

 

“Well, I think it would depend on how you define a ‘thing’ of asparagus. Are we talking about just one asparagus stalk, or, like, a big bundle?” Makoto asks, trying to buy time for thinking up a better asparagus pun than the one he knows is incoming. _Asparagood question? No._

 

“I don’t know,” Subaru responds immediately, allowing Makoto no time to prepare for what is coming next.

 

“—Your aspara _guess_ is as good as mine.”

 

Makoto wracks his brain for an appropriate response to a pun of that caliber and comes up empty.

 

“Akehoshi-kun…” Makoto groans, “how am I supposed to respond to that?” Before Subaru can reply, however, Hokuto delivers a swift chop to Subaru’s head.

 

“Akehoshi. We were talking about Dreamfes plans, _not_ asparagus.”

 

Subaru pouts. “Hokke doesn’t understand _sophisticated_ humor! The price you have to pay for being graced by that excellent pun is… five 10 yen coins.”

 

There’s a long-suffering sigh from Hokuto. “I’m not giving you a single cent. You’ve extorted enough money from me already.”

 

“Extorted? I’ll have you know that all the money you gave me was purely due to our _deep friendship!_ ”

 

Hokuto snorts. “Actually…”

 

Makoto doesn’t pay attention to the rest of Hokuto’s sentence, because Mao pulls up a chair from a neighboring table and sits next to Makoto, flashing him a tired grin. Makoto gives him a shy smile in return, catching a glance at Mao’s bento box—pink, with a bunny pattern on it. Mao must have slipped into the classroom while Subaru was talking. He runs his hand through his hair like Makoto knows he does whenever he’s stressed—well, more stressed than normal—and turns to watch Subaru and Hokuto bicker. Subaru is currently brandishing a chair threateningly at Hokuto, who has assumed a defensive position.

 

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” Subaru yells, waving the chair. His voice suddenly becomes pleasant. “Unless, of course, you pay the fee of 10,000 yen.”

 

“I’m not paying you anything. Just give me the chair.” Hokuto has the tone of an old, weathered man already weary of the world’s troubles. “There’s no time to be playing around. We could’ve been practicing by now.”

 

“We don’t have any Dreamfes coming up anyways! Hokke, you fun-sucking villain!”

 

“Villain?” Hokuto looks incredulous. “You’re the one threatening me with a chair for money. And besides…”

 

“They’re still at it, huh?” Mao lets out a long sigh, smiling wryly. “I guess it’s nice to get to relax, though. Especially you, Makoto; you’ve been working harder than anyone else here.”

 

“Ah, well… I need to keep working hard so I don’t keep dragging you all down… and you’ve been working harder than I have,” Makoto says. Mao frowns at this. He suddenly clasps a hand on Makoto’s shoulder firmly, looking him straight in the eye. Makoto flinches a little. On reflex, he looks away.

 

“You’re not dragging anyone down. You’re just as good as the rest of us, y’know? Trickstar,” Mao’s voice softens a little, “wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” He gives Makoto’s shoulder a reassuring shake. Warmth spreads through Makoto’s chest, for some reason, at Mao’s words.

 

“Yeah,” Makoto mumbles. There’s a little pause. “Yeah,” Makoto repeats, more confident this time. A grin spreads across Mao’s face.

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Mao says, and Makoto finds himself missing the comforting weight on his shoulder as Mao drops his hand. There’s a beat of silence before Makoto is driven by a weird impulse to clear the atmosphere, or something, and gestures at Mao’s bento box. “Um… did you not eat lunch today? Lunch is the most important meal of the day!” He scolds, trying for humor. Mao laughs lightly, although Makoto notices him casting worried glances at Subaru, who is, in true Subaru fashion, now rolling around on the floor, fake-crying about how stingy Hokuto is. Hokuto stares down at him, frowning disapprovingly. “I think that’s breakfast, not lunch. But, uh, I actually did eat lunch today. I had some left over, so I thought I’d take it with me as a snack or something. You want some?”

 

“No, that’s okay,” Makoto says, a little surprised. “I was just wondering how you manage to bring your own bento every day, especially with how busy you are…”

 

“My little sister actually made this for me,” Mao says, tugging at the bunny-patterned wrapping in emphasis. “She used to put way too much food in them, and it’d all fall out when I’d go to open it for lunch.” There’s a note of adoration in Mao’s voice that makes Makoto smile.

 

“It must be nice, having someone care about you that much…” In retrospect, Makoto thinks that sounded a little too wistful.

 

“Hey. C’mon, what did I tell you? We all care about you.” Mao scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Okay, I kinda sound like some protag from a shounen manga, or something, but…” Mao opts to ruffle Makoto’s hair in lieu of continuing his sentence. This is the 22nd time Mao has touched Makoto today. Not that he’s counting, of course. After some thinking, he has come to the conclusion that Mao is just a naturally touchy-feely person. Makoto kind of likes it.

 

“Leeet’s practice!” Subaru shouts, slamming his hand on the desk they’re sitting at and unceremoniously interrupting their conversation. Makoto nearly jumps out of his chair. After he calms down, it comes to Makoto’s attention that Subaru is clutching five coins (10 yen?) in his hand. Hokuto must have caved to get Subaru to cooperate.

 

“Hokke,” Subaru starts, placing his hand on Makoto’s shoulder, “is so generous. So kind. His giving spirit touches a poor, less-fortunate soul such as mine.” The coins in Subaru’s hand are waved in front of Makoto’s face like they are solid gold bricks and not plain copper coins. Makoto is amused by Subaru’s radically fluctuating opinion of Hokuto, but that amusement turns to dismay when Subaru starts sobbing dramatically, making the unfortunate decision to drape his body over Makoto’s.

 

“Hokke! I LOVE YOUUUUUuuu!!!!” Subaru bawls. Mao, to his left, looks as disturbed as Makoto feels.

 

Hokuto’s expression is flat as he approaches their table.

 

“It actually is time for practice. I reserved the soundproof practice room for us this week, so we can work on our vocals today,” Hokuto says, his voice raised above Subaru’s loud and slightly obnoxious sobbing.  “If we have time afterwards, we should work on the steps for the songs we already have, just in case any new events pop up. Does that sound good to you?”

 

“Sure!” Subaru’s sobbing stops abruptly. His head shoots up, slamming into Makoto’s chin in the process.

 

“Ow…” Makoto winces, rubbing his jaw.

 

“Oh! Sorry!” Subaru says brightly, although he does look a little concerned. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah…” Makoto smiles weakly, bending to pick up his glasses, knocked under the desk during the collision. He proceeds to bang his head trying to extract himself from underneath the table and briefly contemplates what evils he must have committed in his past life to bring this much misfortune. Further discomfort is brought when he rises to be greeted by the other boys’ concerned gazes on him. He entertains the idea of ducking under the desk again to avoid them.

 

“I’m fine, really!” Makoto reassures them nervously, waving his hands as if to dispel their concerns.  

There’s a brief pause. Hokuto is the first to act, nodding to acknowledge Makoto’s words but still looking unconvinced. “If you’re sure…”

 

Subaru ushers Makoto towards the classroom door, laughing and saying something about radishes, his current Pun Topic of Choice. There’s a hand rubbing his head reassuringly, and Makoto thinks that maybe Subaru is still feeling a little guilty. It occurs to him that it feels different than when Mao does it. He’s not sure why. A glance behind him lets him know that Mao and Hokuto are trailing close behind, talking freely, and Makoto decides not to dwell on it much.

 

Makoto turns back to Subaru and informs him that while their recent performance was good, he thinks it was only rad- _i_ _sh_ , and laughs at Subaru’s resulting frown of disapproval.

 

//

 

“Aaaauuuggghhlbbbhhthhhh…” Subaru’s groan of exhaustion devolves into disdainful raspberries blown at the ceiling.

 

They’re all lying on the floor and panting, thanks to today’s workout, which somehow manages to be more hellish than any other they’ve had thus far. Makoto wonders if it is possible to dissolve and become one with the floor through sheer force of will. Mao, somewhere to his right, is making vague attempts at rolling a water bottle to Hokuto, who is currently comatose and has his face pressed against the cool floor.

Pressing his face to the floor sounds like a Good Idea to Makoto; unfortunately, he cannot summon the strength to actually roll over.

 

“Gyaaaauugghhhhgghh…” Subaru moans.

 

“Ugghhh…” Makoto groans in response.

 

“Gghhh…” Mao whimpers, and they devolve into a glorious cacophony of pained groans.

 

Hokuto, to his left, is making a valiant attempt to push himself off the floor. Makoto turns away, and, soon enough, hears the tell-tale ‘thump’ of Hokuto hitting the ground again. Makoto reaches out to pat Hokuto’s arm sympathetically, and contemplates telling him ‘good try’, but determines that speaking is too much effort right now.

 

A few minutes pass, and Makoto is—surprisingly—the first one to stagger to his feet. He moves to pull Subaru up, who decides to go slack and let himself be dragged across the floor like a sack of potatoes.

 

“Ukki, no… save yourself...just leave me here. To _die_.” Subaru slumps to the floor dramatically.

 

“Akehoshi-kun! Don’t die on me,” Makoto begs, equally dramatic.

 

“That’s enough,” Hokuto—now sitting up—cuts in, although there’s a little smile on his face as he watches. “Actually, I have some news for all of you.”

 

The other three turn their attentions to Hokuto with interest.

 

“We’ll be having a training camp in a couple of days, thanks to Isara helping our application make it to the approved pile at the student council,” Hokuto says, with a grateful glance at Mao.

 

“I don’t want to think about more training now,” Subaru complains. Makoto knows that he’s looking forward to it like the rest of them, though.

 

The last few minutes of practice are spent with Hokuto fielding questions from Subaru and Makoto about where they’re staying (a quiet little inn in the mountains with a field for practicing), the food there (Hokuto doesn’t know) and the possibility of many shiny gold coins being present at the inn (none).

 

When Makoto walks home that day in the amber sunset, his head is filled with worries and daydreams about the training camp and a smile tugs at his lips.

 

//

 

Makoto stretches and yawns widely as he walks down the quiet street.

 

Today, he has actually managed to wake up on time and get out of the house without any disasters, which Makoto counts as both a victory and an omen of good things to come. A few minutes into thinking about this morning’s broadcast and the selection of songs for it, he hears a voice calling out to someone, and his head jerks up.

 

“Makoto!” The voice belongs to Mao, who is waving a hand at Makoto and carrying something very large and blue.

 

Makoto feels a little thrill at meeting Mao on his way to school, and crosses the street (after looking both ways) to walk with him.

 

“Good morning,” Makoto greets. He offers a shy smile to Mao, who returns it with a grin.

 

“Good morning,” Mao says, shifting the large thing on his back.

 

Makoto wonders if it would be rude to ask what is on Mao’s back, but his mouth is already moving.

 

“What are you carrying?”

 

“On my back?” Mao casts a weary look at the thing—person—on his back. “Ritsu. You should at least say hi to Makoto.”

 

Ritsu makes a tired, irritated noise and opens one eye to peer at Makoto before closing it again. Mao offers Makoto an apologetic smile and jostles Ritsu a little, as if to punish him for his rudeness.

 

“Sorry. He’s a little grumpy in the morning.”

 

Makoto opens his mouth to say it’s alright, but Ritsu is the first to talk instead.

 

“I’m not grumpy… Maa-kun is just mean,” Ritsu grumbles, burying his head in Mao’s shoulder.

 

“How am I mean?” Mao demands. “I’m _carrying you to school_.”

 

Ritsu just snuggles more into Mao’s shoulder and offers no further explanation.

 

After a few moments of silence, Mao and Makoto fall into comfortable conversation, talking about school, practice, Mao’s student council work, and the training camp as they walk. Mao asks if Makoto has all his books, sparking a momentary breakdown until he realizes that they’re all in his backpack, and Makoto asks about Mao’s little sister (wouldn’t let go of Mao when he was heading out the door to school, had to be pried off) and about possibly studying together after the training camp.

 

“Maa-kun,” Ritsu says suddenly, interrupting a conversation about basketball club and certain over enthusiastic seniors. “I’m thirsty. Can you get me something to drink?”

 

Mao lets out an exasperated groan. “Can’t you wait until we get to school?”

 

“No,” Ritsu says petulantly.

 

“Fine,” Mao grumbles, acquiescing to Ritsu’s demands and letting him down from his position on Mao’s back. “I’ll be right back,” Mao says to Makoto, looking apologetic.

 

“Okay,” Makoto says, panic flaring in his chest at the prospect of being left alone with Ritsu, who doesn’t seem like his biggest fan. Sure enough, stony silence ensues as Mao hurries off. Okay, no big deal. Maybe he can strike up a conversation?

 

“Um, does Isara-kun carry you every mo—”

 

“You like him,” Ritsu says bluntly. Shocked into silence, Makoto gapes dumbly at him for a few seconds.

 

“Of course I like him,” Makoto stammers, after recovering a little bit. “He’s my fri—”

 

“You know what I mean,” Ritsu says. His tone is flat.

 

After a few beats of silence, Makoto works up enough courage to protest again. “How do you know I like him?”

 

“You just do,” Ritsu says, very unhelpfully. “And—”

 

“Hey! I’m back,” Mao says, approaching with two cans of fruit juice. He glances between the two of them and frowns.

 

“Did something happen?”

 

“No!” Makoto says quickly. Ritsu is silent.

 

Mao stares at him, and Makoto is forced to look away.

 

“...Okay,” Mao says, finally, hoisting Ritsu up onto his back again. “If you’re sure…”

 

Makoto finds that it becomes weirdly difficult to talk with Mao for the rest of their walk to school. Blood red eyes watch him contemplatively.

 

//

 

The first day of training camp is coming to a close, and Makoto is thoroughly exhausted.

 

After Ritsu’s comments, which he is pointedly _not_ thinking about, time passes relatively quickly; the day before is spent preparing for the training camp, allowing little time for thinking about anything else. Makoto has never really gone on a training camp before, and spends the majority of the night before panicking about what to bring before giving up and texting Subaru.

 

On arrival, they find that the inn, while obviously well-run and new, is small, with very few guests. _Quaint_ , Hokuto describes it, and Makoto kind of agrees. There’s not much time to relax and explore, though, because they immediately launch into training until sundown.

 

Makoto stretches in the amber sunlight, barely suppressing a yawn. Since the sun is starting to wane, Hokuto is probably (hopefully) going to end practice here for today, although they could be practicing into the night again; a few moments later, to Makoto’s relief, Hokuto tells them they can start doing cool-down stretches. Before he realizes it, his feet are carrying him to where Mao is preparing to stretch almost on instinct. He thinks about turning and walking in the other direction, because it’s probably weird to be spending so much time with Mao, but a glance behind him lets him know that Subaru and Hokuto are talking and already stretching together, so he decides to just keep walking. He approaches Mao uncertainly, and his knees feel like they’re turning to jelly in what must be relief when Mao looks up, face breaking into a grin—albeit a tired one—when he recognizes Makoto.

 

“Hey,” Mao greets him, still slightly breathless.

 

“Hey,” Makoto returns, sitting down awkwardly beside Mao. “Is it okay if we stretch together…?” The words feel clumsy on his tongue. Mao gives him an odd look.

 

“Sure. Y’know, you don’t really have to ask. It’s not like we’re strangers or anything,” Mao says, the corner of his mouth quirking up a little.

 

“Oh! Um, yeah…” Makoto fumbles, and he can feel himself flush a little. He quickly starts reaching for his toes to cover up his awkwardness, and also as an excuse to not look too hard at Mao’s face. Not that he needs an excuse, of course. Or that he has any reason to be suddenly awkward around Mao either, because he used to be comfortable around Mao and something happened and now he’s thinking about Ritsu and—

 

Makoto starts when Mao reaches over from behind and gently pushes Makoto’s arm further towards his feet.

 

“Are you okay?” Mao asks, and even though Makoto is very deliberately not looking at Mao’s face, he knows Mao is giving him a concerned look. “You’ve been spacing out lately.”

 

“Huh? You must be imagining it,” Makoto says, laughing nervously. “I’m fine.”

 

Mao makes a small noise in acknowledgement and returns his focus to helping Makoto stretch. His hand is firm on Makoto’s arm, rough and warm on bare skin, and Makoto is so focused on the feeling of it that the pain of stretching dims in comparison. Maybe Mao can see Makoto’s ears go red. He hopes not.

 

“You’re kinda tense,” Mao notes absently, pushing a little harder. “Do you want me to give you a massage, or something?”

 

Makoto blinks, stunned. A massage? The offer catches Makoto off guard, so he doesn’t have time to stop himself from imagining Mao’s hands pressing into his back, kneading the tense muscle, drifting—

 

“Sorry, sorry!” Mao says, apparently taking Makoto’s silence as a refusal. “That’s kind of a weird thing for a guy to offer, huh?” An easy laugh. “It’s something your girlfriend should be doing, not me.”

 

 _Girlfriend_. The words make Makoto’s stomach wrench for reasons he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that he doesn’t really want Mao to say that word again, because...

 

Why?

 

Girls are cute and sweet-smelling and make tasty food. Girlfriends are amazing and good and _girls_ , which is always important. Girlfriends are, in general, good. Great. There’s no reason Makoto shouldn’t want Mao to talk about girlfriends. It’s probably nothing.

 

“Makoto? What’s up with you…”

 

What kind of girlfriend would Makoto even want to have? Someone really pretty, probably, and reliable. Someone willing to be patient with him. Someone who’s friendly and hardworking and kind and straightforward and Makoto realizes when he tries to imagine a girlfriend he can’t really imagine anyone, besides maybe—

 

“Ow ow ow ow _ow!_ ”

 

Mao is stretching him way too far, and it _burns_. To Makoto’s relief and slight chagrin, Mao releases him and scoots back a little. Rubbing his aching leg, Makoto makes the mistake of turning to face Mao, and immediately drops his eyes from the concerned expression on Mao’s face.

 

“Okay, seriously. You’ve been spacing out a lot lately,” Mao says; his voice is gruff but the hand on Makoto’s shoulder is gentle. Struck by the sudden thought that maybe Mao conveys with physical contact what he cannot with words, Makoto forgets to answer until he is prompted by a weary sigh from Mao.

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Mao asks. Makoto is immediately hit with a wave of regret, because he hadn’t meant to worry Mao _again_ , and he really shouldn’t be suddenly thinking about Ritsu’s words now because they probably don’t matter, anyways, because Mao is a guy and Makoto would definitely know if he was in love with… He forces the rest of his worries and that train of thought to the back of his mind, where he can obsess about them later that night.

 

Makoto manages a smile. “I’m fine, Isara-kun,” he says.

 

Mao does not look convinced.

 

Fortunately, though, when Mao opens his mouth to say something else, Subaru bounds up to them and forces his way between them with a grin blooming on his face. Relief floods through his chest at not having to fumble his way through responding to Mao. Not that it should be hard to talk to Mao, or anything. It’s not, really.

 

A sweaty and warm hand has trapped his wrist in an iron grip, and has hoisted him up and is dragging him in the direction of the inn they’re staying at.

 

Sky blue eyes meet his. “Hey, Ukki. Do you think they have hot sauce here?”

 

“No,” Makoto says firmly, hopefully cutting off any pun opportunities. He still hasn’t gotten over the Asparagus Incident, which really isn’t an Incident but Makoto feels betrayed anyways.

 

“It was a genuine question! Okay, next question: Picture this. You have a bowl of rice. Now imagine that bowl of rice,”—a pause for dramatic effect—”but filled with hot sauce.”

 

“That’s not a question,” Makoto offers, and finds that his worries from the past few minutes seem just a little less scary now. A grin from Subaru.

 

“Just setting the scene. Could you eat a bowl of hot-sauce-covered rice? More importantly, are you willing to _try_ , Ukki? Think about it.”

 

There’s not much to think about here, except that he is _not_ trying that. Hoping for Hokuto to come and rescue him, Makoto looks over his shoulder, trying to catch Hokuto’s eye, but sees Mao walking by himself a little ways behind them. His heart rate speeds just a little bit, for no reason at all, and speeds up even more when Hokuto suddenly appears next to him, effectively sandwiching Makoto in between him and Subaru.

 

“You’re not forcing Yuuki to eat a bowl of hot sauce,” Hokuto says, blessed, precious, amazing Hokuto, with a frown at Makoto that is an odd mixture of stern and apologetic.

 

Subaru whines. “I wasn’t asking him to eat a bowl of hot sauce! Just a bowl of rice… with a generous amount of hot sauce.”

 

“Why are you so intent on bullying Yuuki, anyways?”

 

“I’m not bullying Ukki!” Subaru protests dramatically, although there’s a flash of genuine hurt in his eyes that makes Makoto’s stomach twist a little. “I’m just trying to cheer him up! Look, haven’t you noticed that he’s been kinda weird and quiet ever since we went on this training camp?”

 

“No,” Hokuto admits, turning to examine Makoto’s face with an intensity that makes him extremely uncomfortable. The ground is suddenly very interesting to Makoto, and he decides to examine it further as if it will eventually tell Makoto the secret to eternal happiness, freedom from irritating gray-haired men, and not thinking weird thoughts about one of his best friends.

 

“Is something on your mind?” Hokuto asks, frown obvious in his voice.

 

“You can tell us anything,” Subaru adds. “We’ll help, okay?”

Opting to look up at Hokuto, because the prospect of meeting Subaru’s eyes is a little scary at the moment, Makoto nods enthusiastically; he knows Hokuto will continue to press him if he doesn’t manage to convince him that he’s _fine_ , because he is, really.

 

“I’m alright,” Makoto promises, smiling reassuringly. “Thank you, though. For, um, worrying about me.” He fumbles embarrassingly over the last few words.

 

Hokuto nods, seemingly convinced. “I see. Akehoshi,” he starts, leaning slightly to look at Subaru, “was that thing about the inn food true?”

 

When Makoto looks instinctually at Subaru, he feels nervousness pool in the pit of his stomach at his skeptical expression. Subaru, like Mao, isn’t convinced, but thankfully goes along with the change of topic without pressing Makoto further. “That part about the poisonous mushrooms _might_ have been an exaggeration, but they did have mushrooms…”

 

Makoto allows their conversation to wash over him as comfortable background noise as they make their way back to the inn, contributing occasionally and trying to not think about the boy trailing a little behind them or sleepy words that continue to haunt him.

 

//

 

Dinner that night is enjoyable and pleasantly devoid of poisonous mushrooms (‘Any mushroom can be poisonous, Ukki, depending on how you eat it!’) and hot sauce, and it makes Makoto forget all about his earlier thoughts.

 

Showering and getting cleaned up for bed is a relatively disaster-free affair, too, although Subaru does call him out for accidentally staring at Mao’s midriff longer than strictly necessary, which happens. To people. When they’re around their kind of (really) good-looking, muscular, and half-naked friends. It’s totally normal, probably.

 

The final step before heading to bed is brushing their teeth. Despite Makoto’s best efforts, Mao and him end up at adjacent sinks.

 

A few moments of silence.

 

And then—

 

“Hey,” Mao says, offering a weak smile to Makoto, the one thing Makoto was hoping would not happen.

 

“Hey,” Makoto says to the sink, because looking at Mao is way too much for him to handle right now.

 

“Soo…” Mao starts. “Practice was pretty hard today, huh?”

 

Makoto nods. “Yeah,” he says, glancing up at the mirror at Mao and immediately regretting his decision. Desperately trying to think of something to talk about but coming up with nothing, they lapse into uncomfortable silence until they both finish brushing.

 

There’s a sharp intake of breath next to Makoto, and when he looks up reflexively, he notices that Mao looks like he really wants to say something, but—

 

“Time to head to bed,” Hokuto says, voice loud in the quiet room. Grateful for the excuse to extract himself from the situation, Makoto nods his head more enthusiastically than he probably should, hurrying out of the bathroom.

 

 _Maybe it’s difficult for him to talk to you now because he’s starting to hate you_ , a little (dramatic…) voice whispers in his head as he walks, and won’t go away no matter how hard he wills it to. He knows that Mao is just acting weird because Makoto has been getting distracted and weird around him, because… because? Makoto doesn’t know why. He keeps trying to figure out _why_ this is bothering so much, but it just is, and at this rate things might get even more awkward and then they won’t be friends and then Trickstar will kick him out, probably, and then he abruptly hits something soft and loud.

 

“Ukki?” Subaru says, half-laughingly and half-questioning. It is then that Makoto realizes that he has not only managed to walk into the room where they’ll be sleeping, but also to walk directly into Subaru carrying his futon.

 

“Is this a gag?” Makoto wonders if he imagines the note of worry in Subaru’s voice.

 

“Yeah,” Makoto says quickly, with a laugh he hopes only sounds forced and nervous to him. He fumbles around for his futon for a good thirty seconds before realizing that his is already set up, with Hokuto’s to his right and… Mao’s… to his left…

 

He knows that it’s impossible to avoid Mao completely, especially during a training camp, but he briefly entertains the possibility of dragging his futon to the corner of the room and dying. Before he can put his plan into action, though, Mao and Hokuto enter the room. Also, dying is probably not a great idea, Makoto thinks distantly.

 

Subaru grins, plopping down on his own futon. “Can we stay up and tell ghost stories, Hokke?”

 

“No,” Hokuto responds, all business. A whine from Subaru.

 

“C’mon! What’s a training camp without ghost stories and staying up, Hokuto?”

 

Hokuto’s expression remains neutral at the use of his first name, although Makoto watches in awe as his face turns a delicate shade of pink.

 

“A proper one, Akehoshi. We need _rest_ so we can focus on our training tomorrow,” Hokuto says, turning away to set up his own futon. Makoto realizes he’s still sitting on Subaru’s futon, so he hurriedly scurries to his own. Mao, to his left, is already on his futon, staring distantly at the sliding doors that separate the room from outside. Turning away, Makoto settles into quiet chatter with Subaru for a few minutes before Hokuto gets up and turns out the lights.

 

“Goodnight,” Subaru says, and the room is filled with several ‘goodnights’ before a silence falls over the room.

 

Subaru is the first to fall asleep, snoring softly. After a few minutes, Hokuto follows, breathing evening out. Setting his glasses beside his pillow, Makoto buries his head in his futon and tries to focus on not thinking about anything, but Mao keeps drifting into his thoughts, unhelpfully. After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, but is actually probably only half an hour, Makoto gives up and lets himself think about Mao. It’s not like Mao can read minds or anything, so he’s safe. Thinking about messy, pulled back hair and kind words has the weird effect of making Makoto’s heart speed up and calming him down at the same time, for some reason.

 

He wonders distantly if Mao is already sleeping.

 

Makoto walks into the 2-A classroom, then, but everything is dim and gloomy despite the light shining in from the window.

 

“Akehoshi-kun?” he calls out to the figure standing at the other side of the classroom, his back turned to Makoto. No response.

 

He walks up to Subaru, tapping his shoulder. “Akehoshi-kun,” he tries again, with a laugh. “Hello? I think practice is starting soon, so we should get going—”

 

“Why would I go with _you?_ ” Subaru sneers, rounding on Makoto with a horribly blank expression. His heart stills in his chest.

 

“What do you mean?” Makoto asks uncertainly. “T-This is a joke, right?”

 

Subaru chuckles hollowly. “You wish. You make me sick,” he spits, drawing closer to Makoto. “You’re lucky I’ve put up with you this long.”

 

“No,” Makoto mumbles, blood running cold. He tries to back away from Subaru, but his back hits something behind him, and he turns to see Hokuto with the same blank smirk on Subaru’s face.

 

“You’re an _idiot_. How else could you not realize we’ve hated you all this time?” Hokuto intones, and Makoto realizes with mounting terror that Nazuna, Shinobu, and other figures he can’t make out are approaching steadily from the shadows.

 

There’s a thin hand on Makoto’s face, suddenly, and he whips around to see Izumi leering at him.

 

“It’s okay, Yuu-kun,” Izumi coos, smile becoming twisted and grotesque. “I’ll still love you.” His hand caresses Makoto’s face, moving upward to remove his glasses. “See? I told you. I told you you couldn’t do it. I told you they all hated you. But that’s alright,” Izumi says, cupping Makoto’s face with his other hand. “The only thing you need is your beautiful face. That’s all you’ll ever have…” His grip on Makoto’s face turns painful, but Makoto is frozen in place despite the panic screaming in his ears.

 

“Beautiful,” Izumi murmurs, voice distorted. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...”

 

Makoto looks around wildly for someone, anyone to help him, when he spots Mao standing a little ways away.

 

“Please,” Makoto croaks. “Please help me, Isara-kun.”

 

“Help you?” Mao laughs, voice pleasant. He shakes his head. “I’m done helping you.”

 

“Do you know why?” Mao continues questioningly, and Makoto shakes his head, despite the tears dripping down his face, despite Izumi’s iron grip on his face, despite Subaru leering down at his face.

 

“It’s because I _hate you_.”

 

And Makoto’s heart shatters again.

 

The crowd of familiar faces draws closer and closer, their murmuring growing louder.

 

“Makoto,” they chant. Mao’s voice is the loudest among them.

 

“Makoto.”

 

“Makoto.”

 

“Makoto, Makoto, Makoto.”

 

Makotomakotomakotomakotomakotomakotomakotomakotomakotomakoto _MAKOTOMAKOTOMAKOTOMAKOTOMAKOTOMAKOTOMAKOTOMAK_

 

“—oto! Makoto!” Mao whispers urgently, shaking Makoto’s shoulders. Makoto starts awake, heart pounding furiously against his ribcage. Looking around wildly, he spots Subaru and Hokuto sleeping peacefully in the dark room. He’s still in the inn. It was all a dream.

 

There’s a beat before he registers the weight on his waist, and his attention immediately snaps back to Mao. Mao is straddling him, untied hair hanging loosely down. He peers down at Makoto, and the sheer concern in his eyes makes Makoto’s heart ache in a way that has nothing to do with the nightmare he just had.

 

“Are you okay?” Mao asks, voice hushed. His hand smooths Makoto’s hair out of his eyes absently, then jerks away as if burned. Something flickers in Mao’s expression, but the moment passes quickly.

 

“Yeah,” Makoto says breathlessly. “I’m—...I’m alright.”

 

“Good,” Mao says, and the relief is palpable in his voice. “I just heard you talking in your sleep, I guess, and you sounded really…” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck. Makoto’s stomach twists at how upset Mao looks, eyes cast to the side.

 

“I’m sorry,” Makoto blurts out. Green eyes flick to his. “For waking you up, I mean. I’ll try to be quieter…”

 

“Huh? Nah, it’s fine. I was up anyways,” Mao says, running a hand through his hair. He looks nice with his hair down, Makoto thinks absently. He should let it down more often.

 

“Why were you awake?” Makoto asks, blinking back to reality.

 

“Just thinking about things. Oh,” Mao says, blinking and shifting off of Makoto. “Sorry. I didn’t really realize I was sitting on you.” Makoto has a sudden impulse to grab Mao and tell him to keep straddling him, and he has no idea why. He does know, however, that he really misses the physical contact as Mao crawls back to his futon.

 

“Goodnight,” Mao whispers. The gentle smile Mao gives him makes Makoto’s heart melt, just a little bit.

 

“Goodnight,” Makoto whispers back, staring at Mao’s back when he rolls over in his futon and trying to fight back the loneliness pricking at his heart.

 

Thirty minutes pass, and Makoto still can’t sleep. Partially due to the lingering terror from his nightmare and the fear of having another, and partially because he really wants to reach out and hug Mao, or hold his hand, or something. It’s not weird, just basic human longing for contact. He feels his heartbeat quicken a little, imagining just reaching out and asking to hold Mao’s hand. But then Mao might scoff at him, or get up and wake Subaru and Hokuto and laugh with them at Makoto trying to _hold Mao’s hand_ , or run out of the room and never talk to Makoto again, which are not things that he thinks Mao would do but they _could_ happen, which is why he’s not asking to hold Mao’s hand.

 

A little (sleepy) voice in his head asks why he’s thinking so much about Mao holding his hand, and isn’t it weird to think about holding another guy’s hand if you don’t like him? _It’s not weird,_ Makoto thinks firmly at the sleepy voice. It’s not like he would kiss Mao, or anything. Although he guesses if Mao _asked_ , he wouldn’t say no—

 

“Are you still awake?” Mao asks tiredly, rolling over to face Makoto. “I can feel you worrying from over here.”

 

Oh no. Mao can read minds, probably, which means he heard everything about Makoto maybe wanting to hug him (not weird), hold his hand (not that weird), and kiss him maybe (kind of weird), which means Makoto has to move to America, but he hears that there are polar bears in America, and he really doesn’t want to get mauled by a polar bear, but now that he thinks about it, America isn’t really cold enough for polar bears, so maybe he can make this moving-to-America-and-away-from-Mao thing work out after all.

 

“Makoto? Are you okay?” Mao asks, looking into Makoto’s eyes. “Are you still thinking about that nightmare?” _I’m living it_ , Makoto wants to say, but then he’s remembering that nightmare again and he isn’t really okay at all.

 

“A little,” he admits.

 

Mao frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?” Makoto shakes his head, suddenly feeling like he wants to cry.

 

“I’m okay,” Makoto whispers, and hates that his voice wobbles.

 

The frown on Mao’s face deepens. “You’re obviously not okay. You know what?” Mao says. He runs his hand through his hair. This is it. This is where Mao gets sick of him and turns over and goes back to sleep, and Makoto will have nobody to blame but himself for it.

 

“Come on, get in,” Mao says, lifting his blanket. Makoto stares dumbly at Mao, because this is not what he expected at all.

 

“Hurry up,” Mao urges. Even in the dark, Makoto can see a blush spread across Mao’s face. “It’s not weird. I used to do this with my little sister when she got nightmares,” Mao grumbles, although Makoto thinks that he’s grumbling out of embarrassment rather than out of anger for Makoto.

 

Makoto moves uncertainly to Mao’s futon, heart racing. An arm wraps around Makoto, covering him with the blanket. His face is smushed a little against Mao’s chest, and he’s caged in by Mao’s arm. It should be weird, or uncomfortable, but it just makes nervous tension fizzle in his chest and his face heat up, and, if he could see Mao’s face, he’d probably be blushing too.

 

“‘m sorry,” Makoto mumbles against Mao’s chest. He thinks the arm around him holds him a little tighter.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mao murmurs, and the sound of his voice makes gentle warmth spread through him. “Go to sleep.”

 

Mao’s heat and the firm arms holding him close are starting to make him very sleepy, so he closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why Mao is so kind to him, but the fact that Mao does all this for him makes him feel so impossibly happy. It’s the first time Makoto has felt really, truly safe in a very long time, he thinks sleepily, his consciousness slipping away.

 

The last thing Makoto registers before falling asleep is a hand carding gently through his hair.

 

//

 

“...—but they’re so _cute!_ Look, I’ll send it to you too. I’m going to set this as my wallpaper…”

 

“...You know how Yuuki feels about cameras and pictures. They _do_ look pretty comfortable, though.”

 

“... _shhh!!_ Makoto’s still sleeping! You’ll wake him u—... oh. Hey...”

 

Makoto blinks sleepily. His first instinct is to go back to snuggling with Mao, the warm, happy feelings from last night still lingering. Then he realizes three (3) Very Important Things:

 

  1. Subaru and Hokuto are leaning over them with their phones out, having just taken pictures of him and Mao cuddling.
  2. Mao is smiling sheepishly at him, having clearly given up on extricating himself from Makoto’s arms.
  3. Makoto and Mao cuddled last night. _They cuddled last night_ , _and Makoto liked it._
  4. Mao is a guy. Okay, technically four things. Also, this is not a new realization for Makoto, but is suddenly a problem considering Very Important Thing Number Three.



 

They—

 

Makoto flings himself back onto his own futon, squeaking embarrassingly. It takes him several seconds of fumbling to successfully recover and put on his glasses. They allow him to see Subaru laughing his ass off, Hokuto scolding him (while pocketing his own phone), and Mao rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, blinking at Makoto’s sudden… flinging.

 

“Heyy! How did you little lovebirds sleep last night,” Subaru asks, making a kissy face at Makoto.

 

“We-- no-- that’s not--” Makoto fumbles, heat rushing to his face. He struggles silently to figure out how to convince Subaru that it’s really not what it looks like, but in his panic, nothing is coming to mind. Subaru opens his mouth to say something else, but Mao comes to his rescue.

 

“Look,” Mao says tiredly, raising a hand in surrender, “it’s really not like that. Our futons were really close together, and Makoto must’ve just rolled into mine in his sleep. I was dreaming about a teddy bear factory, so I thought Makoto was one and hugged him while I was sleeping. No big deal.”

Makoto’s eyes widen, and he feels a rush of affection for Mao so strong it almost knocks him over. A frown grows on Subaru’s face.

 

“Awww, Sariiii… That’s so boring! I thought I caught you two having a secret love affair!”

 

“Focus on your own love affairs first,” Mao grumbles drowsily. For a moment, Makoto wonders if he imagined Hokuto glancing away, but the thought is quickly dismissed. He thinks he catches Subaru mumble something like “...not that close together” under his breath before Hokuto claps loudly, snapping them all to attention.

 

“Yuuki! Isara! Make your futons. Me and Akehoshi are going to brush our teeth and get dressed, and we can all meet up for breakfast after.” Makoto nods faintly. Looking between Mao and Makoto and nodding to himself after a moment, as if satisfied, Hokuto tilts his head at Subaru and they exit the room. Soft voices talking about food and training die out, and then…

 

Silence.

 

Neither of them move for a few seconds. Mao is the first to get started on making his bed, prompting Makoto to follow suit. The only sound for quite some time is the soft rustling of the leaves outside.

 

“U… Um,” Makoto tries, faltering a little. “Thank you. For covering for me, I mean. And… all that stuff last night.”

 

Mao’s hands still, and Makoto’s heart stops beating, frozen over with fear that he has said something wrong or weird for the briefest of moments; Mao looks over at him, then, and smiles gently, and Makoto’s heart melts a little instead.

 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what friends are for, right?”

 

Mao is too kind to him, Makoto thinks, before saying “Yeah.” and giving him a smile in return.

 

Someone’s stomach growls; Mao laughs, folding up his futon, and wonders out loud what’s for breakfast, and they slip into easy conversation as they get dressed and head down to join Subaru and Hokuto.

 

Makoto manages to push all his thoughts and feelings from that night to the back of his mind for the rest of the day.

 

//

 

The next few days are a flurry of practice, melting into a comfortable cycle of sleep, eat, training, and more sleep. The dull ache in Makoto’s muscles takes longer and longer to fade away every day until it ceases to do so, as does the fatigue. All of the aching and exhaustion actually makes him kind of happy, Makoto thinks. There’s a sense of companionship from sharing all of that with his unitmates—his friends—that causes warmth to bloom in his heart. It’s a little silly, but whenever Subaru complains to him about how brutal their workouts are or when Hokuto calls him over to ask something about their choreography, it makes him feel like he belongs, sort of.

 

Makoto doesn’t have any nightmares for the rest of the training camp, because he continues sleeping with Mao. After hearing that Makoto slept peacefully with him, Mao insists, embarrassed, that Makoto keeps sleeping with him (‘I just don’t want to keep getting freaked out every time you have a nightmare, okay?!’), and Makoto finds himself starting to look forward to bedtime every night. Subaru starts out making fun of them when they wake up in the morning, tangled together and flustered, but by the last day, just gives Makoto a knowing look and makes his own futon without comment.

 

The last day.

 

Makoto stares at the bus that’s supposed to take them back to school with a mixture of satisfaction, relief, and sadness. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Makoto looks to his side to see Hokuto, who gives him a tiny smile.

 

“You’ve worked hard,” Hokuto notes with approval. He gives Makoto a gentle nudge towards the bus before boarding it himself, followed by Subaru, who is less subtle in his methods of getting Makoto on the bus (read: dragging). Halfway onto the bus, Makoto is abruptly struck with irrational panic that they’re leaving Mao behind at the inn. He looks behind his shoulder and sees Mao right behind them. Mao looks up and smiles reassuringly at Makoto, who quickly faces forward again, suddenly unable to handle Mao smiling at him. Makoto doesn’t have to look at Subaru to know he’s leering knowingly at him, and heat rushes to his face.

 

The school-provided bus is small, but all four of them are able to be seated comfortably on the extended back seat. Makoto ends up squished between Mao and Subaru, a position that he privately thinks may have been planned by Subaru. Hokuto, to his far left, has a sympathetic look on his face that is either aimed at Makoto or Mao, or maybe both of them.

 

“Ukki,” Subaru whispers conspiratorially. “Do you think I can hijack this bus and drive it myself?”

 

Makoto, as with most things Subaru says, is entirely unsure whether he is serious or not, so he decides to play it safe. “No,” he whispers back, shaking his head in the universal sign for ‘this is a horrible idea’ as the bus starts moving.

 

“Ukki...” Subaru says, shaking his head sadly. “We used to be the Idiot Duo! What happened? I think Sari’s responsibility rubbed off on you…” He shoots a clearly affected dirty look at Mao.

Mao grins back before turning back to the window, sneaking a glance at Makoto as he does. Makoto maybe stares at the back of Mao’s head longer than he should before turning back to talk quietly(?) with Subaru. The bus settles into lazy chatter with Mao and Hokuto occasionally adding comments and/or scoldings when necessary.

 

Eventually their talking becomes soft and sparse, until fading into sleepy, comfortable silence. Makoto quietly watches the window, when he feels something soft and heavy on his shoulder. He glances down and immediately tenses up.

 

Mao is sleeping on his shoulder.

 

He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Mao’s sleeping face, heart pounding so loudly he’s sure it’ll wake Mao up. Mao looks more relaxed than Makoto has ever seen him, warm breath passing softly between his lips. When they slept together at the training camp, Makoto was always tucked in Mao’s arms and unable to see his face, but now, staring at Mao sleeping peacefully, Makoto feels like he’s going to lose his mind, and he doesn’t know why but he just _does_. Before Makoto can stop himself, his free hand is stroking through Mao’s hair gently, threading through the soft strands. Mao shifts a little in his sleep, snuggling into Makoto’s shoulder and murmuring softly to himself, and that’s when Makoto realizes.

 

He likes Mao.

 

He likes Mao, like, a lot.

 

Mao stirs in his sleep, oblivious to Makoto’s staring and accompanying silent breakdown. Makoto feels like he’s really, seriously going to lose it, and he has no idea how he managed to repress his feelings for so long. Probably because he wasn’t watching Mao sleep, with his lips _right there_ , open for anyone to just lean down and kiss. Adjusting his glasses with shaky hands, Makoto shakes Mao gently, because he’s not sure he can take much more of this.

 

“Huh?” Mao mumbles sleepily, and Makoto’s heart aches.

 

“You fell asleep,” Makoto tells him softly. He hopes Mao doesn’t notice the tremor in his voice.

 

“Mmh…” Mao stretches languidly. “Thanks for waking me up.”

 

Makoto looks away, because he has the horrible feeling that Mao will turn and see through him, that he’ll realize how Makoto feels about him and then he’ll hate Makoto forever.

 

The bus stops, then, and Makoto is struck with a sudden thought. He’s back at Yumenosaki, which means everything will go back to normal. No sleeping with Mao, no being close with Mao for extended periods of time. Because, really, the only reason he thought he liked Mao in the first place is because of the training camp, and because of Ritsu’s words messing with his head, except they’re not, because they don’t mean anything _because_ he’s not going to let the fact that he likes Mao—temporarily, that is—ruin his friendship with him.

 

Makoto, resolved, decides to focus on other, not-Mao related things, like Subaru dragging Hokuto off the bus unceremoniously, laughing about something drool-related and how Hokke is such a _grandma_ , right, Ukki? Giggling at Hokuto’s disgruntled face, Makoto steps off the bus with a smile.

 

Everything will be fine.

 

//

 

Everything is not fine.

 

“I knew you liked Sari,” Subaru says triumphantly, around a mouthful of rice. “Why did you think I put your futons together?”

 

Hokuto frowns.

 

“My grandma says it’s better if you let these things develop naturally,” he says sagely. Makoto would rather this didn’t develop at all, actually. He’d like it if this thing developed into not being a thing anymore.

 

“You should just confess to him!” Subaru urges, spraying rice all over the table and grinning sheepishly at Hokuto, who stares disdainfully at the fallen rice grains.

 

Makoto adjusts his glasses. “He probably doesn’t like me,” he says, with a self-depreciating laugh.

 

“Why?” Subaru and Hokuto ask, almost in unison.

 

“Isara-kun is so good at everything, and he’s kind and friendly and helpful and…” he trails off at Subaru’s amused expression. “...Yeah. He could have anyone, you know? He doesn’t have any reason to like me.”

 

“You should give yourself more credit, Yuuki,” Hokuto says, frown deepening.

 

“I’m a guy, anyways…” Makoto mumbles. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird?”

 

“Ukki,” Subaru says, tone suddenly turning somber. “That’s discrimination. Anyone can get married to anyone! For example, _I_ want to get married to my coin collection!”

 

Makoto has no idea how to respond to this information.

 

“Anyways,” Subaru continues, “why not just give it a shot? Confessing, I mean. What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

Makoto knows what is the worst thing that could happen, because he has obsessed over it every night for the past week since they’ve gotten back from training camp. The worst thing that could happen is not Mao hating him. The worst thing that could (will) happen is that Mao will reject him politely, and then stop touching Makoto casually, stop smiling easily at him, and be polite and awkward around him, and then Makoto will have no choice but to just die.

 

“I just don’t think he likes me,” he says, instead.

 

“Sari goes out of his way to help you out,” Subaru says, and Makoto almost thinks his tone is a little gentler. “I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

 

“He’s like that with everyone,” Makoto says, and he hates how it comes out sounding like he’s jealous, or something, because he’s really not.

 

Hokuto snorts a little. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t let just everyone sleep with him,” he points out, and Makoto flushes.

 

“You haven’t seen the way he looks at you?” Subaru questions, tilting his head, both of them teaming up in an apparent attempt to fluster Makoto as much as possible. “Sari looks so dreamy, like—”

 

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Makoto interrupts, burying his head in his hands, face burning. “I’ll talk to him…”

 

At his words, Subaru ruffles his hair affectionately and Hokuto makes an approving noise, and Makoto feels a little better about this whole thing. Just a little.

 

The rest of lunch passes without incident.

 

//

 

As it turns out, Makoto doesn’t end up confessing to Mao. What _does_ end up happening is Makoto dreaming about Mao every night for the next week. Most of the dreams involve Makoto confessing to Mao, or the other way around. Some of the dreams, however, are just of Mao; his muscles, his habit of running his hands through his hair, his sheepish grin, his voice and those are the ones that make Makoto break out in a cold sweat and turn pink when he thinks about them, especially since they always seem to surface when he’s doing something with Mao involved.

 

The dreams aren’t just confined to nighttime, either; Makoto’s grades take a dive from ‘passable’ to ‘dear god kill me now’ because he spends class daydreaming about Mao, and while Subaru teases him about it, he knows him and Hokuto are both worried about him. He can’t even ask Mao for help studying, for obvious reasons. Even practice is hard(er) now, because he has to deal with getting caught up in watching Mao’s movements and how Mao looks, sweaty and exhausted, drinking water and letting down his hair so he can re-tie it and suddenly Makoto needs to go outside to cool down.

 

Mao is starting to notice too, he knows, always checking on Makoto and asking if something’s wrong, or going out of his way to do things for him. It just makes Makoto’s heart ache more and more, flinching away when Mao touches his wrist when asking if everything’s alright for the tenth time that week, and he knows that, eventually, something has to give.

 

It happens a few days later, while Makoto is practicing on his own. It’s a rare break in Trickstar’s practice schedule; although the practice room is reserved for the rest of the week, Subaru and Hokuto are either at home or doing club activities, and Mao has probably buried himself in his student council work, like he’s been doing for the past few days. Makoto is the only one in the practice room.

 

He’s practicing because he knows he’s falling even farther behind everyone else, and although they’re kind about it, he can feel their disappointment when he messes up a step or crashes into someone, and Makoto hates it. It gets harder and harder to practice, though, as the minutes march on, and he keeps missing more and more steps until he collapses on the floor, breathing hard with frustration and exertion. Makoto stares at the hardwood floor, trying to bite back his tears until his vision swims and his glasses fog up.

 

It’s then that he hears the sound of the door opening.

 

Panic rising in his chest, Makoto turns away hurriedly so Subaru or Hokuto doesn’t catch him crying, getting up off the floor and pretending to clean his glasses.

 

“Who’s there?” he calls out, voice wobbling dangerously.

 

“Makoto?”

 

He freezes. The last person Makoto wants to see right now is here, of course, and he’s going to see Makoto crying pathetically.

 

“Yeah?” Makoto says, scrubbing at his eyes frantically and desperately hoping that Mao will just turn around and go away.

 

“Listen, I…” Mao starts. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been avoiding me lately, and I know I messed up by sharing a bed with you then, and I probably made you feel weird, and I just… I’m sorry.”

 

It’s not Mao’s fault. It’s not his fault at all, it’s all Makoto’s fault for liking him, and now he made Mao, who has done nothing but help him, apologize. The tears are coming out faster than he can wipe them away, now, and he knows that Mao will find out he’s crying if he says anything, so he doesn’t.

 

“Makoto?” Mao says again, voice now alarmingly close, and Makoto flinches a little. “If you don’t want to accept my apology, that’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but that’s your choice. But can you just talk to me, please?”

 

Makoto feels a hand on his shoulder and he whirls around, startled, and immediately recognizes that he’s made a terrible mistake. Mao’s eyes widen, stunned.

 

“Shit, Makoto, I’m sorry,” Mao fumbles. “I shouldn’t have—”

 

“It’s not your fault!” Makoto shouts, because if he has to hear Mao apologize one more time he thinks he really is going to be sick. “It’s not,” he repeats, weakly, hands fisting in Mao’s uniform. “It’s my fault.”

 

“How is it your fault?” Mao asks, voice trembling a little bit too.

 

“Because… because…” Makoto stammers, and every part of him is screaming don’t do it, don’t do it Makoto, don’t mess things up more than you already have—

 

“I like you!”

 

White-hot regret burns in his chest, but he can’t take the words back. He stares at Mao’s vest, now tear-stained, and hates himself now more than he ever has.

 

“I like you so much,” Makoto continues, suddenly unable to keep words from tumbling out of his mouth. “I’ve always liked you, and I thought that if I just avoided you it would just go away but it didn’t and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Isara-kun.” He cries harder and harder with each word until he’s sobbing uncontrollably, and he knows that Mao is going to hate him now if he didn’t already, and he’s ruining everything now and he can’t handle this and he can’t handle Mao rejecting him, he can’t.

 

“Makoto—”

 

“It’s okay,” Makoto chokes out, voice bordering on hysterical. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Before he even registers it, he’s running out of the room, sobbing pathetically. He runs until he can’t anymore, throwing himself into the nearest bathroom stall, collapsing against the door and then crying into his hands. He cries and cries until he runs out of tears, devolving into pathetic sniffling. For a moment, he contemplates just staying in this stall until tomorrow, but then he hears something move close to him, head jerking up.

 

Izumi is leaning against one side of the bathroom stall with a shell-shocked expression on his face and Ritsu’s hands under his shirt. Ritsu, on his part, is staring at Makoto petulantly.

 

“Uh, do you mind? This stall is _kinda_ occupied,” Ritsu says.

 

This is mistake number two of Makoto’s horrible, terrible day. “I’m sorry,” he babbles, scrabbling for the lock. “I’ll just find another stall to—”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Izumi snaps, having regained the power of speech. “What happened? Who did this? I’ll kill them,” he growls. Izumi is way too close to Makoto in the crowded bathroom stall, and definitely too close to be having homicidal tendencies.

 

“I take it your confession didn’t go so well?” Ritsu observes lazily.

 

//

 

Makoto ends up telling them everything that happened, more out of a need to get it all out rather than out of an expectation for any good advice. Izumi, he notes, looks like he’s one ‘Mao’ away from a mental breakdown, which is probably the only thing they’ll ever agree on.

 

“Wow,” Ritsu says, after Makoto has finished and started crying again. “You really fucked up.”

 

“Kuma-kun!” Izumi snaps, now recovered. “Are you really that shitty at comforting people?”

 

“You’re shit at comforting people too,” Ritsu points out. “Remember when Suu-chan was crying and you—”

 

Izumi flushes. His face, not the toilet. “That’s enough,” he grumbles, looking away.

 

“So?” Ritsu turns his attention to Makoto again. “If you’re certain he’s going to reject you, why run from it?”

 

There’s something about Ritsu that makes Makoto feel uncomfortable, like he’s constantly being judged. He probably is, now that he thinks about it.

 

“I’m scared,” Makoto admits quietly, threading his hands together. When he looks up, he’s surprised to see Ritsu’s expression has softened from taunting to unreadable.

 

“Maa-kun wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that,” he says, voice just a little gentler than before. “He’s a nicer person than I am. He’s nicer than anyone else.” When Makoto doesn’t say anything, Ritsu continues. “You owe it to him to listen to what he has to say.”

 

“Our friendship won’t be the same,” Makoto mumbles. He drags a hand through his hair, because the reality of how badly he has messed up is really hitting him now.

 

“Obviously it’s not going to be the same,” Ritsu says, in a tone that suggests that he believes Makoto is an idiot of the highest order. “But it’s not going to get any better if you keep running away from him.”

 

Makoto nods at that. Ritsu is only really repeating what he already knows, but it makes him feel a little bit braver anyways.

 

“Thank you,” he tells Ritsu, and means it, weirdly enough.

 

“Whatever,” Ritsu says, turning away. “I gave you your cryptic non-advice. Can I make out with Secchan now?”

 

“I didn’t get to give him any advice!” Izumi protests, and Makoto just now realizes that Ritsu’s hand has been up Izumi’s shirt for the entire duration of their conversation.

 

“Considering all your _romantic success_ , I somehow doubt he needs your advice,” Ritsu drawls, hand inching upward, prompting Makoto to immediately extract himself from both the bathroom stall and the situation.

 

He thinks he hears someone say something like ‘good luck’ from the stalls as he hurries away.

 

//

 

Makoto doesn’t manage to track Mao down that day, presumably because Mao has already headed home.

 

As it turns out, Makoto doesn’t get any sleep that night, either, tossing and turning restlessly because his brain decides that imagining and re-imagining every possible outcome of Mao talking to him is more important than sleeping anyways. The imagined scenarios range from the bizarre (fish raining down from the sky, Mao donning a superhero suit and asking Makoto to be his snail?) to the slightly depressing (Mao moves to Kyoto, Makoto gets run over by a car before he can hear Mao’s answer) and just downright sad (Mao telling Makoto he hates him and that he never wants to see his face again, which, for some reason, seems more tragic to Makoto than getting run over by a car). It’s the happy scenarios, though, that hurt the most; the ones that give Makoto a little glimmer of hope that he has a chance with Mao, maybe.

 

At around 2 AM, Makoto abandons any hope of falling asleep and returns to his faithful pastime (the other one, besides fantasizing about Mao): watching videos of hamsters eating assorted food items. It starts out great, and Makoto almost manages to forget about Mao and his disastrous confession. Then, of course, he clicks on one video, and the hamster is eating asparagus.

The asparagus is not the problem, obviously, but the fact that the hamster has a cute tuft of hair that reminds Makoto of Mao _is_ , and then Makoto is thinking about Mao again and he feels like he’s going to go crazy if he keeps torturing himself like this.

 

3:03 AM, his clock proclaims.

 

The hamster continues eating asparagus.

 

He’s going to go crazy.

 

The hamster, finished with its asparagus, starts on a radish instead.

 

What’s stopping him?

 

Makoto grabs his phone, scrolling up on Trickstar’s group chat until he finds Mao’s address, posted about a month ago when discussing study sessions (mostly for Makoto’s benefit). Resisting the urge to go back and read all of Mao’s messages, Makoto burns the address into his mind before tossing his phone aside, throwing on his school blazer, and tiptoeing downstairs. Praying to whatever gods have forsaken him to let his mom stay asleep, Makoto toes into a pair of old sneakers and takes off running towards Mao’s house. He’s been there a few times before, so he _probably_ won’t get lost, despite his abysmal sense of directions. After a few minutes of running, Makoto’s lungs are burning and he has a horrible stitch in his side, because, yeah, his endurance really isn’t anything to write home about, but he keeps running. He keeps running because he knows if he stops, he’ll start to consider how dumb this all is, how mad his mom is going to be when he gets home, and how he doesn’t even know if Mao will let him in, never mind want to see him.

 

It takes him about ten minutes, give or take, to make it to Mao’s house, and as he stands in front of the door, what seemed so easy ten minutes ago now seems completely impossible.

 

He’s still wearing his pajama pants (emblazoned with flying wads of cash, a gift from Subaru), all he has on is his school blazer and a plain T-shirt, his hair is disheveled, and he has absolutely no guarantee that Mao will be the one to answer the door, if anyone does answer at all. Assuming Mao _is_ the one to answer the door, and somehow doesn’t hate Makoto enough to let him in, Makoto realizes he has absolutely no idea what he is going to say to him.

 

There’s a knock at the door. Makoto wonders for a moment what idiot knocked at the Isara family residence’s door at 3 AM, when he realizes.

 

 _He_ is the idiot.

 

 _He_ knocked on the door.

 

 _He_ is royally screwed.

 

Makoto waits for what seems like an hour but is actually probably just a couple of minutes, heart pounding in his chest. He’s about to turn around, about to write off this whole  knocking-at-someone’s-door-at-ungodly-hours thing as better left to people like Subaru (or Izumi...), when the door slides open.

 

“Makoto?” Mao whispers, voice hoarse.

 

“Hi,” Makoto says dumbly. He gives Mao an awkward little wave.

 

Makoto doesn’t have time to process the shock of seeing Mao before getting yanked into the house. He barely manages to get his shoes off before being tugged upstairs and into Mao’s room, the door closed gingerly behind him.

 

“Are you an idiot?!” Mao hisses the second the door to his room is shut.

 

“Uhh…” Makoto says intelligently. He watches absently as Mao runs his hand through his hair so violently he might as well be tearing at it, letting out a shuddering, half-hysterical sigh.

 

Mao opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but seems to think of better of it, leading Makoto to his bed and motioning for Makoto to sit. He does.

 

Silence falls over the room after Mao sits next to him. Their hands are only a few inches apart. Makoto could reach out and hold Mao’s hand. Right now.

 

Mao is the first to speak, breaking the silence and causing Makoto’s attention to jerk back to him. “Why did you come here?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Makoto suddenly notices that Mao’s eyes are puffy with dark circles, and he looks more drained than Makoto has ever seen him. Maybe, he thinks, maybe Mao was up for the same reason he was, and hope flares in his chest even though it really, really shouldn’t.

 

“I wanted to see you,” he says simply. Mao’s eyes, staring distantly at a point in the floor, whip up to Makoto so fast he startles a little bit.

 

“You wanted to see me,” Mao repeats, voice hollow. His stare is becoming more and more uncomfortable, and Makoto is about to scoot back a little bit when Mao suddenly lunges at him, forcing Makoto onto the bed by his shoulders and swinging a leg over Makoto’s midsection, effectively straddling him. Makoto’s glasses are knocked out of position in the process, but he can still see Mao’s face clearly, and the look in his eyes sends a violent shiver arcing up Makoto’s spine.

 

“Do you have any _IDEA_ how worried I was?!” Mao demands in a furious whisper, freezing Makoto in place. “You—you just confessed to me, and then you started crying and ran off and I was so scared, I kept _looking_ for you but I couldn’t find you anywhere and I thought something happened to you and you weren’t picking up your phone and—...” he trails off, evidently realizing that his voice has climbed to a near-shout by the end of his sentence.

 

All the words caught in Makoto’s throat have abandoned him now, leaving him staring mutely at Mao. Mao stares back at him for a few moments, breathing hard, before suddenly sagging and pressing his forehead against Makoto’s, chuckling deliriously.

 

“I care about you _so much_ ,” Mao murmurs, and Makoto’s heart _aches_.

 

Makoto’s hand reaches up to cup Mao’s face, thumb running over his cheek, and his breath stutters in his chest when Mao’s eyes flutter open.

 

 _His lips are soft_ , Makoto thinks distantly, and only really registers the kiss after Mao has already pulled away.

 

“That means I like you too,” Mao elaborates after a long pause, blushing harder by the second.

 

Makoto thinks about this.

 

“You like me,” he clarifies.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Not a joke.”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re sure.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure!” Mao says, with an exasperated laugh.

There’s a long pause where they just stare at each other, Makoto processing this information. Then there’s warmth flooding his chest because _Mao likes him_ , he really, actually likes Makoto, and Makoto likes him back.

 

“I like you,” he tells Mao, just because he can.

 

Mao scrubs at his face with his hands. “I know. Don’t make me say it agai—”

 

Mao doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Makoto is kissing him, and even though Makoto misses his lips a little bit and their noses bump and their teeth clack, for the first time he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because he’s so happy he feels like could explode and _Mao is kissing back_.

 

They keep kissing after that, and Makoto can’t even keep track of who keeps going back to kiss again after they pull away but it doesn’t matter because he never wants it to end.

 

Mao is the first to pull back, and panic flares in Makoto’s chest before he notices that Mao’s lips are wobbling, like he’s trying to suppress a smile but failing. There’s a sudden weight on Makoto’s chest when Mao collapses, nuzzling into his shoulder. _Parents_ , Makoto remembers abruptly, parents are something that exist and they might barge into Mao’s room and draw the wrong (right) conclusion from two flushed, breathless boys on top of each other. His own parent is going to be _pissed_ if he gets back home at 4 AM, his brain reminds him, reality unhelpfully crashing back down on him when he’d really rather it not.

 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Makoto murmurs, deciding his mom’s wrath is more life-threatening than Mao’s parents’. Mao nods slightly against his shoulder.

 

After a few moments, judging by Mao’s soft, even breaths, he has fallen asleep. Makoto tries in vain to tug a few blankets over Mao without disturbing him, before giving up and opting to hold Mao tighter instead.

 

It really is easier to sleep with Mao, he thinks absently, before drifting off himself.

 

//

 

“Big bro!” a little voice calls. “It’s time to wake u—”

 

There’s a sudden movement next to him. All Makoto wants is to go back to sleep, nuzzling into the suddenly-upright figure next to him.

 

“Why are all your friends so _weird_ ,” the voice demands.

 

He didn’t know Mao had a sister, Makoto thinks distantly, when he realizes.

 

Yes. He does.

 

And that sister has just walked in on Mao and him sleeping together.

 

Makoto, very awake now, jerks upright too, and fumbles for his glasses for a few seconds before realizing Mao is holding them out to him. Putting them on, he is able to make out Mao’s sister, a [ c ](http://ensemble-girls.wikia.com/wiki/Mai_Anjo)ute little girl who is pretty much the spitting image of Mao, including the tied up hair and exasperated frown. She blushes slightly at Makoto’s gaze, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

 

“I guess this one is okay,” she squeaks, hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her.

 

Mao buries his head in his hands.

 

“I’m sorry,” Makoto says. He puts a hand gently on Mao’s shoulder, hoping it comes off as comforting.

 

“It’s alright,” Mao sighs, although there’s a little smile on his face. “Do you need to borrow my uniform?”

 

“Yes,” Makoto admits, already imagining Subaru’s face when he walks in the door wearing Mao’s uniform.

 

After a few minutes of awkwardly changing at opposite corners of the room, they somehow make it downstairs. Mao’s parents are there, and seem entirely unsurprised by the sudden appearance of a strange boy wearing their son’s school uniform.

 

The rest of breakfast is spent gulping down food as fast as Makoto can without coming off as impolite and fielding questions from Mao’s parents about school, his friends, hobbies, Mao (?), and Trickstar, while Mao, to his credit, tries very hard to dissuade them.

 

It really must be nice to have a family like that, Makoto thinks, as he is ushered out the door by Mao with their matching sister-made bento boxes.

 

“It’s really not that great,” Mao says. Makoto realizes, embarrassed, that he has just voiced his thoughts out loud. “Sorry my parents bothered you like that.”

 

“I-It’s alright! I kind of enjoyed it,” Makoto fumbles out, dumbly. “Thank you. For—for letting me stay over,” he says, although he wants to thank Mao for a lot more than that.

 

Mao doesn’t say anything, but warm fingers lace with his, and Makoto thinks his meaning has gotten across, maybe.

 

He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry if this fic seems a little rushed!! i don't know how to write endings.. or beginnings.. i dont rly know how to write actually


End file.
